


The Long Train Home

by round_robin



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, D/s themes, M/M, Oral Sex, PWP, Rough Sex, season two spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-09
Updated: 2012-01-09
Packaged: 2017-10-29 06:52:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/316944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/round_robin/pseuds/round_robin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Baskerville case, John and Sherlock are on the train home. John has a few... choice words concerning Sherlock's behavior.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Long Train Home

**Author's Note:**

> Not beated or Brit-picked, so all mistakes are mine. Can be read as a companion piece to "That Mouth," but they're both meant as stand-alones. Though, they're both going off the same idea.

Finding an empty compartment on the train back to London was a small miracle in itself. John knew it would probably fill up as they made stops and got closer to the city, so he had to take his chance now.

Slowly (so as not to draw Sherlock’s attention) he stood up. “Sherlock,” John said softly as his fingers turned the latch on the compartment door. Locking it. Sherlock gulped. Oh yes, he knew what was going on. Why did John even want to keep it from him? It’s always better when he knows. “Be a love and close the curtains?”

Sherlock’s shaking hand lifted to draw the curtains closed. “I thought you’d want to wait until we got back home?”

John shrugged. “I think you need to learn this lesson now. On your knees.” Just as he always did when John used that tone of voice, Sherlock went silently to his knees. John returned to the bench and sat down in front of the detective.

After so long together, Sherlock didn’t need to be told. Not anymore. He reached forward and opened John’s flies, pulling John’s straining cock from his trousers, and taking a second to stroke the soft organ into hardness. “If it counts for anything,” Sherlock whispered as he kissed the tip. John groaned. “I am sorry.”

The wicked twitch of John’s lips told Sherlock everything. “Oh Sherlock,” John ran a finger down the other man’s cheek. Soft. Tender. The last bit of tenderness Sherlock would get for a while. “You’re not sorry. _Yet_.” His hips jerked up, shoving his cock against Sherlock’s closed lips in a slide of precome, telling the man exactly what he should be doing. “Now get to work.”

Those beautiful, bowed lips parted and took John all in. Sherlock’s talented tongue always made John so hard so fast, and the man couldn’t stand it. His fingers wound through the dark hair, and John held him still. Then, the real fun began.

John’s first thrust made Sherlock gag. Just a bit. Just the way he liked it. John’s second was a bit shallower. So the man could listen properly. “How _dare_ you, Sherlock?” John hissed out. His usually loud growl had to go for now. John didn’t want them to get caught like this. For one, they’d get thrown off the train, and for another, this was private. For their eyes only. Still, Sherlock needed to learn this lesson right now.

“How dare you?” He said again with another punishing push into that lovely mouth. “Drug me. Lock me in that fucking lab and—and…” just then, Sherlock decided to scrape his teeth along the underside of John’s cock, which never failed to make John’s toes curl in pleasure. “That, that…” he panted. “That doesn’t make it better.” Another bruising thrust proved that. “You left me _alone_ , Sherlock. I was fucking terrified. I thought… I thought…” John’s words turned to breathy moans. Sherlock’s hands snaked up to cup John’s hips, long fingers rubbing and stroking and comforting.

John tightened his grip on Sherlock’s hair and pumped forward a few times. One last lash of the younger man’s tongue and it was all over. John came. And came, and came. Sherlock rode it out, swallowing every drop John gave him.

Finally, when John was spent, Sherlock sat back on his heels and started licking John’s cock clean, lapping up any stray ejaculate and the wonderful sex-sweat John produced. “I’m sorry,” he whispered and pressed a kiss to the softening cock. “I’m sorry.”

John looked down. Even in the semi-darkness of the compartment, he could see the bruise rising at the corner of Sherlock’s mouth. He gently ran his thumb over the purple mark. “I know,” he nodded. “Just… oh come here.”

Didn’t need to tell Sherlock twice. Clambering up from his knees, Sherlock climbed into John’s lap, straddling him. “I was so scared.” John whispered. “Sherlock, you have no idea.”

“Yes I do,” Sherlock whispered back, then pressed forward for a kiss. “That’s how I felt out on the Moors. I was shaking John. I was… terrified.”

John’s gaze shifted to a glare. “And you did that to me?”

“I’m sorry,” Sherlock’s eyes fell closed. He nuzzled forward, rubbing his nose against John’s. “My vocabulary isn’t adequate enough to explain how sorry I really am.” A soft kiss. “Forgive me, John?”

With a small nod, John did. Because if there was one thing he knew about his relationship with Sherlock Holmes, it was that he could never stay mad.

“Yes,” he kissed Sherlock’s lips, then the bruise. “Yes I forgive you, you great idiot.” He smiled against Sherlock’s lips. “But it’s a long way to London. You might have to really prove how sorry you are.”

The End


End file.
